


Trusted

by Nyxelestia



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man: Far From Home
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drunk Sex, EDITH - Freeform, Emotional Manipulation, Extremely Dubious Consent, Gaslighting, Hotel Sex, M/M, Mysterio - Freeform, Quentin Beck POV, Seduction, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, rapist pov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-06-29 06:06:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19824091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxelestia/pseuds/Nyxelestia
Summary: While Peter’s metabolism was a force to be reckoned with, that did not mean it was impervious to the laws of organic chemistry. About the time he’d had enough spiked drinks to give a regular human alcohol poisoning, his speech finally starts to slur a little, and he seemed to lose some control over his limbs.His limbs, and his eyes.Was it just Quentin’s imagination, or was Peter’s gaze resting on his lips instead of his eyes?“What doyouwant?” Quentin asked him.Quentin may notlikethe idea of seducing Peter for EDITH, but he changes the story of his dead 'wife' to 'husband', anyway. If Stark and SHIELD thought this kid was mature enough to access a multi-billion dollar global security strike system, then Quentin had no compunctions about indulging in whatever else the kid should be old enough to handle.Five moments where Quentin did exactly that, and one where he couldn't anymore.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Man_ , it's been a long time since I've written Dead Dove fic. >:)
> 
> Unbeta'd, so feel free to point out any typos.

When Quentin offered to have vodka added to Spider-Man’s lemonade, Peter reiterated, “I’m not twenty-one.”

Behind Peter, most of the ‘patrons’ of this fake bar were holograms, but the few that were real people rolled their eyes as spectacularly as Quentin wanted to.

“We’re in Prague-”

“I’m not eighteen, either,” Peter added.

…seriously? What teenager turned _down_ an adult offering them alcohol?

“Listen, Peter, if you’re old enough to be fighting monsters and aliens, you’re old enough to have a drink,” Quentin said, clapping a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “On me, promise. Besides, you have an enhanced metabolism, right? You should be fine, effects-wise.”

At Peter’s hesitance, Quentin didn’t wait — he gestured for the ‘bartender’ to pour some vodka into Peter’s lemonade anyway.

Peter shrugged and took a sip. He grimaced, but before Quentin could tease him into embarrassment enough to drink more, Peter seemed to brace himself as he drained half the glass in one go.

Even Quentin wasn’t expecting _that_.

“…enhanced metabolism,” Peter said, with a sheepish shrug as he all but buried his face into his half-empty glass.

This was either going to be a lot easier or a lot harder than Quentin initially planned. EDITH wouldn’t listen to any commands if Peter was drunk, but should be fine if he’s just a little tipsy. It was a very fine line to walk…but with the strength of Stark’s posthumous leash on Peter, the only way forward was over the tightrope.

Thankfully, Peter was easily distracted. Mostly, William would quietly top up Peter’s glass with lemonade and the strongest vodka they had — which, in Prague, was _very_ strong — while Peter rambled on about the girl he had a crush on.

A crush.

Stark wanted to hand over a lethal, multi-billion dollar global strike system to a kid who still got crushes.

And Stark called _him_ unstable.

“…but I’ve got too much responsibility,” Peter whined, and drained his drink with a borderline desperation that would’ve made Tony Stark proud at the peak of his alcoholism.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could almost see Victoria and Guterman in the background, smirking at Peter following in the footsteps of his mentor.

The legacy and protege of Tony Stark, collapsing as spectacularly as the man himself.

While Peter’s metabolism was a force to be reckoned with, that did not mean it was impervious to the laws of organic chemistry. About the time he’d had enough spiked drinks to give a regular human alcohol poisoning, his speech finally starts to slur a little, and he seemed to lose some control over his limbs.

His limbs, and his eyes.

Was it just Quentin’s imagination, or was Peter’s gaze resting on his lips instead of his eyes?

“What do _you_ want?” Quentin asked him.

“I want fight these elementals and-”

“No.” Quentin slid his mostly full glass of whiskey over at Peter. “Drink up so you stop thinking about what other people want from you.”

What the hell had Stark done to this kid to make him so _obedient_? Just a slightly firm — paternal? — edge to his voice and physically sliding the drink into Peter’s hand, and Peter didn’t even hesitate; he just downed the whole glass in three large gulps.

Then grimacing as he practically slammed the glass down on the bartop.

“Why do people _like_ this?!” he asked, staring in bewilderment at the glass. “At least my spiked lemonade is tasty!”

This. Fucking. _Child_.

Quentin smiled. “Acquired taste.”

“MJ once said an acquired taste is just Stockholm Syndrome for your taste buds,” Peter said, pushing the glass back at Quentin — and almost sliding in his seat, drooping towards the bartop.

“She’s not wrong,” Quentin answered. “All right, I’m sorry, how about another lemonade?”

William started to fill up without another word or gesture from Quentin.

“And we like that stuff because it helps us be…more _honest_ ,” he added. “Y’know, when you don’t have an advanced metabolism burning through it.”

Peter snorted.

“Now, I’ll ask you again, and hopefully this time, you’ll be honest with me,” Quentin said, wrapping a firm but gentle hand around Peter’s shoulder and leaning in. “What do _you_ want?”

The way Peter’s gaze dropped, taking in Quentin’s entire body, was definitely not just his imagination.

But despite clearly checking out Quentin, _wanting_ Quentin, Peter answered, “I wanna tell the girl I like how I really feel about her, and spend my vacation hangin’ out wi’ my friends.”

He looked so forlorn and…exactly like a teenager, as he wrapped his lips around the straw and started drinking more spiked lemonade.

For all the Quentin was manipulating him, using him, and pissed at Stark…part of him couldn’t help but be pissed that Stark was taking Peter’s own life and adolescence away from him. However much it grated on him that EDITH was bequeathed to a starry-eyed kid, it grated almost as much that said kid _couldn’t_ just be focused on a girl and a summer vacation — that Stark and SHIELD were shoving him into the adult world, where he did not belong.

But, the stakes were too high for Quentin to fix that now…and they were the ones that shoved Peter here, in his path. Quentin was just gonna tip Peter right over the edge to get him back to where he belonged.

“Well, I can’t fix that for you,” Quentin said. “Maybe I can help with the girl?”

“How?”

Quentin held up his hand, waving the finger with the fake wedding band on it. “Well, I’ve had at least one success. Maybe we can come up with a plan.”

Peter actually swayed in his seat, so Quentin nudged his own shoulder against the kid’s. “Though maybe back in your hotel room. I guess even your metabolism has its limits.”

Nodding, Peter agreed…then finished up the last of his lemonade.

How very much like Tony Stark.

Even moreso when they both stood, and Peter damn near fell to the floor.

“ _Whoa-!_ ”

Quentin barely caught him in time, the boy stumbling and slumping against him.

Helping Peter back upright, Quentin grimaced. They definitely overdid it — would EDITH oblige any commands at this level of intoxication?

Time may not be on their side, but the rush wasn’t _too_ bad. They could do this right.

Quentin had been patient for _years_. He could wait a few more hours.

“All right, let’s get you back,” Quentin said, rolling his eyes with only mostly-faked affection when Peter pushed away from Quentin to stand upright, trying to look sober in the way only a drunk person ever did.

Most of the ‘patrons’ — the alleged locals — were ‘politely ignoring’ them, though the actual crew turned their heads.

Quentin made a show of eying the rest of the bar, before telling Peter, “Hey, why don’t you take a leak real quick, clear your head?” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder to the little back door…which did lead to an actual bathroom, down the hall. Hopefully, Peter would be too out of it to notice the walk was longer than should be possible for the size of the building they were in. “I’ll see if I can use some…illusion tech…to look like I’m dressed a little less conspicuously.”

Peter nodded, and didn’t question the ‘illusion tech’, thank god. Or thank the booze, anyway.

The boy stumbled off, not noticing half the room watching him out of the corners of their eyes and the bar going quieter as he went.

But no one actually moved until William looked at the hidden security screen under the bar.

“Clear,” he said.

All the crew leaned in at Quentin’s signal, so he could keep his voice down.

“Real quick, did I ever say ‘wife’ when talking about my family?” he asked, looking at William, and Guterman, and the trio of techies who did the bulk of the passive monitoring. “Can I change it to ‘husband’ without contradicting myself?”

William frowned as Guterman leaned over the bar, flipping almost frantically through his tablet of notes. “You should be able to change your ‘wife’ to ‘husband’,” Guterman said…though he looked a little disturbed as he looked up. “Beck, are you really gonna…?”

Quentin held out his hands. “Stark’s the one that gave EDITH to a hormonal teenager. I don’t _like_ the idea, but if that’s what it takes, then that’s what it takes.” Dropping them into his lap, he added, “Though hopefully I can just validate his little crush on me without indulging it too far.”

“If you do,” their crash tech chimed in, gently weaving his way between Victoria and Janice, tugging Tori along behind him. “Then from the actual gay guy to a straight guy: however much stretching and lube you _think_ you’ll need, use more.”

“ _Mike!_ ” someone chided, as a bunch of low groans started to swell — before cutting off, everyone glancing at William, who kept his eyes glued to the security screen.

“Just saying,” Mike continued, as Tori got the cape off of him. Handing it off to Mike,she took Quentin’s arm to get the control for his appearances to change his outfit. Behind her, Mike added, “Also, if you do contradict yourself, you can probably get away with saying you lied in case of homophobia. Enough of us _actually_ do that. Look anxious enough when ‘admitting’ this to anyone, and you should be able to pull it off.”

With a frustrated sigh, Quentin grumbled, “Well then, I guess ‘Alice Beck’ is gonna be…” He looked at Guterman.

“Alex,” Guterman said. “Nice and gender-neutral. Dance around the pronouns well enough, you can make it whatever you want.”

Quentin nodded, right as the scales on his suit rippled and flowed luminescent into…

“…really?” he asked his seamstress. Tori raised her eyebrow at him as she almost defiantly set the outfit.

“If you want to look sexy to a teenager?” she said, closing the interface down. “Yes, _really_.”

With the holographic interface on his arm gone again, Quentin looked like he was wearing tight, black jeans, a white shirt, and a shiny leather jacket. At least the shirt looked like a button-up, but the column of little buttons only seemed to accentuate his pecs, almost as much as the jacket showed off his shoulders.

Victoria wolf-whistled, and giggles broke out across his crew.

“I look almost as ridiculous as I do in _that_ ,” Quentin grumbled, jerking his chin at the cape still draped over Mike’s arm.

“Well, the world likes the capes, and teenagers like the jeans and leather,” Tori said. Quentin grimaced again, but went along with it — after all, this was why he hired her.

“ _He’s coming!_ ” Will hissed.

Everyone snapped back to their respective tables and corners. Mike practically _threw_ the cape behind the bar, before joining the techs in the corner where they pretended to be drunk tourists.

Quentin eased up out of his seat, standing proudly and at just the right spot in the light when Peter came back out of the hallway, one hand sliding along the rough wall to keep him upright.

Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice that when his hands were brushing over wooden walls, he was feeling concrete.

But he _did_ notice Quentin, even stopping and staring with wide eyes.

Quentin held out his hands, showing off the outfit. “How do I look?”

This was just too easy. Peter was two steps away from drooling as his eyes traced up and down Quentin. Huh, Tori was right, this really _did_ do it for teenagers.

“G-good,” Peter finally answered. “Really…really good.”

Quentin grinned, as if he didn’t catch the undertone to Peter’s answer. “Just to get through the streets without being accosted by fans, if nothing else.”

Peter nodded. He let go of the wall, and started to sway — but before he could try to grab onto it again, Quentin swooped in. Wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulders and pulling him close, Quentin said, “I’ll hold onto you on the way back so you don’t embarrass yourself, how’s that?”

Face flushed almost as red as his regular suit — from the proximity? The booze? The lust? — Peter nodded. “Thanks…wouldn’t w-wanna get lost around here and now.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Quentin muttered, gently herding the drunk teenager out the door. “This is the last place you’d want to lose your way.”


	2. Chapter 2

During the walk back to the kid’s hotel, Quentin made sure to always maintain physical contact with Peter.

Sometimes, it was the little things. The brush of his hand against Peter’s, the whisper of his fingers over Peter’s neck, or pressing his palm against Peter’s lower back…

But most of the time, his touch was firmer. He wrapped his arm around Peter’s shoulders and pulled him close, holding himself as a line of warmth all along Peter’s side.

The kid’s flush never went away. If anything, it seemed to deepen, especially whenever Quentin leaned in until his lips were almost flush against the kid’s ear, murmuring idle commentary about the Signal Festival. The attack put one hell of a dampener on the night, but didn’t snuff out the party completely. The two of them blended right into the streets full of far drunker and more gaudily dressed celebrants.

Peter even tugged off his jacket, presumably attributing his warmth to that. Too bad it didn’t help - if anything, it must’ve made things worse for him. Now, only the thin layer of the synth-tech tee-shirt rested between him and Quentin.

As they turned a corner, Quentin used the motions to squeeze Peter’s shoulder - then pretended not to notice Peter’s shiver under his touch.

Oh, this kid was _gone_ on him.

They crossed the bridge that led to the hotel, but Peter froze. As they started to turn the corner, he backtracked - right into Quentin.

With Peter’s back against Quentin’s chest, his ass was also pressing right into Quentin’s crotch - and the kid didn’t even seem to notice.

Not at first, anyway.

Quentin wasn’t into the kid, but he was only human, and he had a goal in mind besides.

Peter definitely noticed when Quentin’s hips twitched against him.

“S-sorry!” Peter mumbled, jerking away from Quentin - completely breaking contact between them for the first time since leaving the fake bar. He leaned against the ancient stone wall, glancing around the corner before turning his anxious attention back to Quentin.

Quentin smiled, not showing whether or not he noticed. Instead, he nodded towards the corner Peter was hiding by, the one they had to go around to get to the hotel. “What’s wrong?”

“Uh, nothin’, j-just…one of my classmates. And they might wonder…who you…”

Peter pushed away from the wall…and Quentin left his toe right up against the edge of Peter’s heel. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make the kid stumble.

Right back into Quentin’s arms.

Pulling the boy closed again, Quentin leaned in to speak quietly, his breath ghosting right over Peter’s ear and down his neck.

“Or why you’re so drunk?” he asked, with a warm chuckle.

Peter’s blush deepened, but he nodded.

And this time he leaned into Quentin’s chest.

Quentin’s next move was a little less subtle - he pressed his lips into Peter’s hair, right over the shell of his ear. Almost a kiss, he instead murmured, “How about I take you in through the back, so no one sees and starts asking anything?”

Peter nodded again, his forehead rubbing into Quentin’s neck with the motion, and his nose brushing over Quentin’s collarbone.

Quentin wasn’t into boys, but god _damn_ , this kid was making one hell of a case for it.

Despite Quentin’s worries about hiding the cloaking tech from Peter while using it on him, sneaking into the hotel through the service entrance in the back was abysmally easy. None of the staff seemed particularly bothered by a grown-ass man carrying a drunken teenager up to a hotel room.

No wonder sex trafficking thrived in this city…

But it worked in his favor, and Quentin had no second thoughts about taking advantage of it.

However, the ease of getting Peter up to his room was undone by what awaited them inside it.

In the golden glow of the late night lamp-light, the white suit almost glowed, despite the smudges of ash and dirt all over it. Peter’s best friend didn’t even say anything so much as let out a strangled half-word as he and Peter launched themselves at each other.

“Dude!” cried out Edward Leeds - went by Ned, Peter’s lifelong best friend, had an outrageous wardrobe that Tori had loved programming for in case they needed to create an illusion of him - as he pulled Peter into a hug. “You saved me! Again!”

Quentin didn’t say anything. He stepped into the room in silence, and eased the door shut behind him. Shit, was his cover going to blow?

His team had gone back and forth about Leeds. Half the time, he couldn’t seem to keep his mouth shut to save his life - yet somehow, he seemed integral to keeping Peter’s secret.

Was he about to go announce the strange man lurking in a teenager’s room?

“I-I didn’t save you,” Peter stammered out, returning the embrace before stepping away. He gestured behind himself, toward Quentin. “He did.”

Or would Leeds' hero worship extend to Mysterio?

Peter had only mentioned Ned once in passing, and hadn’t said his name - but Peter was (hopefully) not sober enough to remember that.

Stepping forward and holding out his hand, Quentin greeted him with, “You must be Ned?”

As he expected, Peter didn’t call Quentin on this, and Ned’s eyes went wide and a little shiny with delight. “Y-yeah, I’m Ned, Nedward Lee- Edward, I mean Edward Leeds! But everyone calls me Ned.”

Quentin smiled. The kids were cute, which made their access to the most powerful technology on the planet all the more aggravating. How secure could Stark’s tech really be, if a stammering child like Ned could hack into it?

Ned looked like he might pass out when he shook Quentin’s hand.

(But Quentin didn’t say his own name. He had no doubt Peter would eventually let it slip, but for right now, it was safer for Ned to only know him as Mysterio.)

As irritating as Leeds’ excitement was, at least it kept him from noticing Peter’s intoxication.

Even when he turned to look right at Peter.

“I was trying to call you,” he said, glancing back at Quentin before re-focusing on Peter.

Frowning, Peter looked Ned up and down. “I thought you were okay- wait, is Betty…?”

“We’re all fine,” Ned reassured him. “But the trip isn’t.”

Quentin couldn’t care less about the kids’ stupid little field trip. Still, even he couldn’t help but feel a little second-hand disappointment when Peter’s eyes went wide in shallow despair. “What?!”

“Monsters are popping up everywhere we go,” Ned said, and held his own phone. “Our parents want us all home.”

“I…” Peter looked about ready to cry, and no wonder. As far as he knew, it was _his_ fault his classmates were following the Elementals across Europe. “I-I’m sorry. I don’t…I didn’t…”

Ned frowned. “What do you have to be sorry for? It’s not your fault!”

“It kinda is,” Peter said, stumbling back and leaning against the nice wall, by the elaborate lamp.

“There were monsters and Nick Fury needed your help-”

“But they didn’t, but because I was with you, you ’ll got dragged into this-”

Peter cut himself off, likely about to use some very impolite language that Spider-Man was famous for trying to avoid.

Spotting the look of loss and confusion on Ned’s face, Quentin stepped forward again. Both boys startled a bit, as if they’d forgotten about his presence.

“I’ll take care of this,” Quentin told Ned, waving towards the distraught teenage superhero. “Why don’t you go to your own room and get some rest?”

Ned didn’t respond, loyalty to his friend warring with hero-worship. His face betrayed the battle of adolescent tenacity against the natural inclination of confused kids to look for an adult to handle things that scared them. But when he glanced back at his friend, Peter gave a small nod, and Ned agreed.

Quentin waited until Ned was almost out the door before calling out, “And Ned?”

Ned almost jumped as he turned on the spot.

“Mysterio and Spider-Man… or, uh ‘Night Monkey’…get a lot of attention,” he said, and looked a little more pointedly at Peter. “And you all have enough targets on your backs. So I think it’s best if no one knows that Peter isn’t alone in here - don’t you?”

The kid nodded like a bobble-head. “Peter _is_ alone in here…” He glanced between them. “And is pretty tired from running away from the Elementals, so he went straight to sleep and that’s why he forgot to check-in with Mr. Harrington.”

Peter slumped against the wall in relief, giving Ned a grateful smile. “Thanks. You always know what to say.”

…really? Huh - that would explain a few things. Ned couldn’t _not_ blab a secret, but he could lie pretty well. How could Quentin use that? How _would_ they need to use that?

“Of course!” Ned grinned. “I’m your guy in the chair.”

Looking back and forth between Peter, and Ned’s exiting form, Quentin decided he didn’t want to know what a ‘guy in the chair’ was supposed to be.

Closing the door behind Ned, Quentin waited a moment - until he was sure Ned was too far away to hear - before locking it.

The last drops of Peter’s good cheer evaporated as he slid down the wall, his jacket falling to the floor at his side. Sitting on the ground and with his long legs splayed out, the booze did what alcohol always does and only exacerbated his feelings.

Sighing, Quentin dropped down next to the kid. He pressed their shoulders together, but didn’t say anything for a few minutes as he tried to figure out how to twist this situation - and Peter’s heart with it. Hopefully, the kid would take this as quiet support.

“You know it’s not your fault, right?” he finally said, to break the silence. “I wasn’t entirely joking when I said Fury kidnapped you.”

Peter sniffed a little. His eyes were wet, but the tears weren’t falling yet. Quentin needed to keep it that way, but how?

He lifted up his arm and pulled Peter closer. This time, Peter didn’t stiffen or hesitate; he relaxed right into Quentin’s one-armed embrace.

The problem with perpetual manipulation was how easy it was to get caught up in what you wanted them to think, such that you forgot the goal was how you wanted them to _act_.

The action he needed Peter to take was to make his ‘own’ decisions instead of letting others decide his path for him…but specifically, to decide to take back his life - one without SHIELD, without monsters, and without EDITH.

But in order to get Peter there…

“Well, at least this means you can come with us to Berlin, tomorrow?”

Peter leaned back to look up at Quentin in confusion.

Did Quentin smile like a mentor? Like a lover? Could he do both at once?

He tried, and prayed it worked, as he elaborated, “The EUROPOL conference?”

“W-why would you want me there?”

Quentin had no problem pretending he thought that question was stupid. “Peter, why _wouldn’t_ I want you there? You and me saved the world together! You deserve some recognition for that.”

“…but I didn’ even - you killed the Elemen’al in the end.”

Nodding, Quentin agreed. “But I wouldn’t have been able to do that without you.” He let his encouraging smile turn watery and sad. “My Earth could’ve used someone like you.”

Peter looked lost - what teenager would know what to say in response to that?

So the boy didn’t say anything. Instead, he snuggled back into Quentin’s side again.

Lowering his voice - not for fear of discovery, but to make the conversation feel more intimate - Quentin ‘admitted’, “I can’t get you your vacation back, or your mentor back, anymore than you can get me my planet back. In the grand scheme of things…I’m powerless. There’s just not much I can do. Tony Stark left some pretty big shoes that I can’t fill…” He pressed his lips to Peter’s forehead - it could be paternal, or it could be romantic, whatever made Peter feel better. “But I can get you this: a little bit of recognition, and for people to know what a hero you are.”

Peter shivered - taking the kiss not-so-platonically?

Or just emotional overload?

Or a bit of both?

“I don’ want that,” Peter whimpered.

With a world-weary sigh, Quentin nodded in perfect empathy. “I know. And I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing for you to be sorry ‘bout!”

Quentin leaned back to smile encouragingly. “I’d say that goes for you, too - don’t you?”

Instead of answering, Peter pulled his legs inward, wrapping his arms around his knees and burying his face in them.

He neither looked nor sounded like he was actually crying. Quentin brought his hand up to rub at the back of Peter’s neck - and since no one could see him, he smiled at the shiver.

In order for Peter to decide to give-up EDITH, he needed to _want_ to _not_ have it.

And Quentin needed to be the one to help him see that.

“I don’t have the power or connections or capability to fix all these problems for you,” Quentin continued. “All I can do is get you some perks.”

Peter snorted. “Perks,” he grumbled in abject derision.

Quentin shrugged, without dislodging Peter. “I meant what I said in the bar. Everyone else is shoving you into adult problems and adult responsibilities…you deserve some adult fun to go with it.”

He waited to see how Peter would choose to interpret ‘adult fun’.

Quentin needed to keep Peter busy until he was sober enough for EDITH to take his commands again, but he couldn’t just kill time. By the time Peter was sober enough to hand over command - but not sober enough to remember why he shouldn’t - Peter had to associate Quentin with his own independence.

He’d originally planned to use the mentor angle, to make Peter see Quentin as the new Iron Man…but this could work, too. If he played this right, he’d later be able to get Spider-Man vouching for Mysterio to the world at large.

And a bit of emotional manipulation in the long run, if Peter ended up with that girl he was drooling over. Would he feel guilty about sleeping with someone else while he’d been trying to get with her? Quentin might be able to use that, down the road…

But not now. First, he had to get EDITH - then he could make his plans for life as the world’s newest hero.

Peter looked up at him, his chin resting over his knees. “And wha’s ‘adult fun’ even s’pposed to be?”

This was the pivot point of the entire night.

Whether he alienated Peter or remained unchanged in Peter’s worldview, Quentin would lose his chances at EDITH if he played this wrong. It was one thing to ply Peter for the system when he’d only just gotten it and was still scared of what he’d been given. It would be another thing, entirely, to try after Peter’s gotten used to having access to Stark’s friendly iteration of Project Insight.

He couldn’t let this moment pass, and he couldn’t mess it up.

Cupping his hand around Peter’s neck, Quentin twisted a bit, enough so their poses were…suggestive. Faces close as they leaned into each other, there wasn’t much else they could be on the precipice of.

Despite this, he didn’t move forward. He rubbed his thumb in a slow, gentle circle through the hair on Peter’s nape, and said, “Tonight? Whatever you want it to be.”

The faint look of determination on Peter’s face was the only warning Quentin got, before Peter leaned forward and pressed his lips to Quentin’s.

Their kiss was…clumsy. Peter didn’t seem to have a clue what he was doing, and Quentin was struck by the possibility that this might be the kid’s first kiss, never mind first anything else.

Would that make it more or less likely that he’d have to actually screw Peter to get EDITH?

All of this flashed through his mind, right as Peter pulled away.

Face flushed almost as red as Quentin’s stupid Mysterio cape, Peter whimpered in mortification as he realized what he’d done.

Before the panic could set in, Quentin leaned forward and returned the kiss.

This time, the kiss was only a little less awkward. Rather than the chaste press, he parted his lips a little, drawing Peter in, kissing once, twice, three times…

Then pulling back with an encouraging smile.

“…oh…” Peter breathed out, blinking dumbly.

Quentin’s smile grew, and he nodded. “Yeah, adult fun can mean that, if you want.”

Peter ducked his head, shyly burying his face in his knees again, before turning his head to peek up at Quentin out of one eye.

“Jus’…jus’ the kissing?” Peter asked.

“If that’s all you want.”

Peter took a deep breath, and asked, “And if I want more?”

Damn, this kid was _bold_ after a few drinks.

(Well, after a lot of drinks, though with his metabolism, it might as well have only been a few.)

“Then I’m on board to have a little fun, too,” Quentin promised.

Peter blinked up at him and frowned, glancing downward towards Quentin’s lap - was he looking for a hard-on or something? What could he-

Oh. He wasn’t looking at Quentin’s lap, he was looking at the left hand _in_ Quentin’s lap.

Quentin sighed, slumping only a little theatrically back against the wall.

“I’m not opposed to having some…fun, relief, adrenaline-fueled ‘thank god we’re alive’ sex, whatever you want to call it,” he said, as if he were admitting a shameful secret. “As long as you know it won’t be more than that.”

He looked down at his hand, at the fake wedding band glinting in the lamp light, and waited a moment for Peter to follow his gaze.

Once they were both looking at it, he tensed his larynx to make his voice sound like he was talking around a lump in his throat. “I’m not ready for anything more than that.”

Peter’s breath hitched predictably, faced with a grieving adult.

And only one way to distract said grieving adult.

He unfurled his entire body to lean in and kiss Quentin again. For a moment, Quentin remained relaxed, as if he were stunned.

But right before Peter would start to worry again, he reached up with one hand - the one without the wedding ring - and cupped it around the back of Peter’s head, holding him where he was.

Peter was clearly copying what he’d felt Quentin do moments before, his lips parted the same way and tip of his tongue moving forward the same way. Quentin smiled against his lips and responded, burying his fingers into Peter’s hair - a little stiff from dried sweat after their night, but pleasantly pliable nonetheless.

Not wanting to hold up this awkward angle for much longer, Quentin moved his other hand, twisting a little to face Peter as he slid his arms around the boy…

The only warning he gave was a small smirk, before the firm tug. Still quite drunk, Peter didn’t even think to resist as Quentin pulled him into his lip.

“Wha…?” Peter blinked down in surprise at Quentin, not fighting as Quentin moved his legs until his knees were on Quentin’s hips.

Rather than answer, Quenting rolled his hips up. While he didn’t have a full hard-on yet, Peter did, and Quentin could feel them both stiffen up with every move.

Especially when Peter moaned right into his ear. God _damn_ , that was doing it for him.

He might need to revisit his sexuality after London…

Draping his hands over Peter’s slim hips, Quentin gently held Peter down as he ground upward again. Peter’s choked off groan went straight to Quentin’s dick.

Huh.

Maybe seducing the kid wouldn’t be so annoying, after all.

Sliding his hand over Peter’s back and up his spine, Quentin cupped the back of Peter’s head again. He held it it in place as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to the smooth, soft skin of Peter’s neck, right under his ear. Peter shuddered, an almost vibrating motion that literally went to Quentin's balls, their dicks pressing against each other through layers of synth-tech, fake denim, and souped up kevlar.

Peter reacted to his every touch, seeming to lean into his hands. Quentin massaged with his fingers, digging firmly into those far-too-well-defined muscles. Then his hands slid down until he was basically massaging Peter’s ass, in time with the rocking of his hips.

He smiled against Peter’s neck when the kid seemed to unbalance a little, plastering his whole front against Quentin’s, whimpering right into Quentin’s ear.

“M-Mr. Beck…” he whined.

“Yeah?” he asked, punctuating that with a particularly firm squeeze of his hands.

Peter gasped, his hips rolling right into Quentin’s again.

The whimpering didn’t cease as he grabbed onto Quentin’s shoulders, seeming to try and balance himself upright and pull himself closer to Quentin at the same time. He squeezed tightly as his hips moved faster and faster with a very familiar urgency-

-tighter and tighter and _too tight_ and of all the ways to remember this kid had super-strength…!

With a long, low moan, Peter slumped against him, his motions ceasing - but not his grip.

“A- _ah_ -!”

Peter flinched back at Quentin’s almost pained cry, frowning in confusion.

The pain didn’t make Quentin go soft entirely, but it did slow down the hard-on he’d been building.

And Peter was already going soft again, coming down off his own orgasm.

Right.

Quentin forgot how sensitive and eager he’d been at that age - the age Peter was now.

“Shoulders,” he gasped out.

Red-faced and wide-eyed, Peter let go. He would’ve flailed right out of Quentin’s lap if it weren’t for his grip on the boy’s hips.

“M’sorry!” Peter cried out. “Mis’er, omigod, I’m sorry, I’m s’sorry-”

How much was humiliation at coming in his pants, and how much was horror from hurting Quentin, with the super-strong grip on Quentin’s normal, human shoulders?

Well, embarrassment and guilt were both useful feelings, at least.

He cut off Peter’s drunken rambling with a kiss. The boy froze, stunned and confused, but also still responsive, still reacting based more on feeling than true thought.

When Peter finally relaxed, Quentin pulled away.

“You’re strong,” Quentin should. “You don’t ever have to apologize for being strong, just…be a little careful.”

Biting his lip, Peter nodded.

Then he glanced down at his crotch, and his flush deepened as he realized…

“Sorry ‘bout _that_ , too,” he mumbled.

“Don’t be,” Quentin said, leaning forward to nip at Peter’s neck. Peter yelped, his body rolling in a sinuous wave that pressed him against Quentin’s hardening dick again. “I’m flattered.” Rolling his hips against Peter’s just the once, he added, “And something tells me that you might have more where that came from.”

Head tipped back and eyes fluttering up at the ceiling as sensation overwhelmed him, Peter nodded. “Y-yeah…”

Quentin rubbed his thumbs in small circles in the creases where Peter’s thighs met his hips, smiling as the boy squirmed in his lap.

For all the irritations that came from sleeping with inexperienced virgins, he supposed he could also see this bit of appeal in teenagers. Where Quentin would be half-asleep after one drunken orgasm, Peter was still up and rearing to go again. Only a few more minutes of-

_Beep_

With Peter’s head tilted back and eyes shut, Quentin pressed his face into Peter’s neck instead of suppressing his scowl.

Even in his own ear, his ear-piece’s alert was barely discernible in the quiet of the hotel room. It was set to always use the lowest volume possible, in case he was in the middle of something when his team needed to talk to him.

Like right now.

What the hell could they need that couldn’t wait?

Well, at least they had good timing.

He mouthed at the dip of Peter’s collarbone, then leaned back to grin up at Peter. “Hey, why don’t you take a breather on the bed, I’ll go freshen up?”

Peter blinked in confusion at the ceiling, taking a moment to look down at Quentin.

“Wha…?”

Right. Not just an inexperienced teenage virgin, but a _drunk_ inexperienced teenage virgin. Now Quentin remembered why he stuck to dates his own age.

He kissed Peter on the lips, a quick one before repeating himself. This time, Peter nodded, and Quentin let go of Peter’s hips.

Then burst out laughing when Peter tried to stand up, failed, and fell back on his ass on the plush carpet.

“I…I’m sorry,” Quentin said, taking in the boy’s long-suffering face before he flopped back, laying on the floor. “This is a little funny.”

“Don’ wanna be funny,” Peter grumbled. “Wanna be _sexy_.”

Despite the brave words, Peter blushed all over again, turning his head a little to peek at Quentin, gauging his reaction.

Quentin smiled back, keeping his expression as reassuring as possible, though not bothering to hide his amusement. He fought down the urge to groan - Mysterio being a lot fitter than Quentin actually was - and stood up. Bending over, he held a hand out, dragged Peter up onto his feet as well, and steadied the boy when he stumbled upright.

“All right, you definitely need a minute,” Quentin said, pushing Peter over to the bed. Peter fell all over it, star-fishing across the large and plush bedspread.

On an impulse, Quentin leaned over. Balancing on one hand pressing into the bed, his other hand sunk into Peter’s hair, stroking his head as Quentin leaned down to kiss him.

Peter sighed into the kiss, reacting to Quentin’s exploring lips.

Just when Peter seemed unsure what to do with his tongue, Quentin pulled away again. His hand came down to drape over Peter’s chest, feeling every breath under his fingers.

“You’re irresistible,” Quentin murmured, surprising himself with how much he meant that. Peter’s body sprawled over the bedspread, the off-white quilt providing the perfect background for toned flesh and dark clothes. The tac pants and undershirt hugged his entire body, head to toe. Despite his youth, he already had a shapely torso that would’ve been the envy of Quentin’s entire school at that age - and hell, were enviable now.

Not counting the five years he’d lost to the Blip, Quentin hadn’t been on a date in years, and before that, he’d only been with the occasional woman. It’d been so long since he’d looked at men, and right now, he could not for the life of him remember why.

He nipped at Peter’s throat again, grinning when Peter whined. Even if Peter still needed a few more minutes to get hard again, he could enjoy sensation everywhere else on his body in the meantime. Quentin looked up in time see one of Peter’s knees sliding up, firm thigh muscles inviting him as his leg bent.

_Beep_

Right.

He pressed a quick kiss to the rising knee, but then tapped the boots Peter still wore.

“Word of advice,” he said, with an encouraging smile at the delirious boy spread out on the bed. “Get your shoes and socks off.”

Winking as salaciously as he could manage, Quentin sauntered into the bathroom.

Locking the door behind him, he was surprised when his cheerful expression didn’t immediately drop. Even if teenage boys weren’t exactly his usual taste, he was enjoying himself, right now.

Still, he made sure to activate the _very_ low-frequency noise scrambler. Intended against remote audio monitoring, it would be effective against Peter’s insane hearing.

Peter would only hear white noise if he focused on the bathroom. Hopefully, drunk as he was, he'd dismiss that as electronics static, running water, or both.

“Yeah?” he greeted, scanning his own appearance in the mirror when he tapped his hidden ear-piece. “Do you have any idea what you just interrupted-”

_“About that,”_ William said. _“Fury sent an agent to check on you two, the German one. She’s not interfering and doesn’t look like she’s going to, but she is monitoring.”_

It took a moment for the implication to sink in…but once it did, Quentin hissed. His good mood and smile disappeared into swearing and a scowl.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “So the longer I’m here, the more likely he’ll figure out why.”

_“Yup,”_ William said, popping the ‘p’ a little. _“If you leave right now, you should be fine. But if you stay there any longer, then by tomorrow morning, Fury will know Mysterio slept with a sixteen-year-old boy.”_


End file.
